It Goes A Long Way
by beasheep
Summary: The tailoring of a suit brings Bella Swan closer to Edward Masen in ways no one could expect-- not even the dead guy on the gurney. It stands to show that the simple things go the longest way.
1. One

_ **A.N. **So, ladies and gents (however few there are of the latter), this story on is not an original piece as I used characters taken from Stephenie Meyer's **Twilight **series. This is an AU fic in which there are some living people and some-not-so-living people, as you, reader, will soon find out... Not everyone is as they should be according to the Twilight Universe, but, AHA!... cry about it. No extreme OOC-ness personality wise (at least **I** don't think so), but there are bits and pieces that are disputably different. DISCLAIMER END._

_Oh, and by the by, I have absolutely no idea of when I will be able to update, so reading will likely be sporadic and often riddled with displeasing cut-off points. Hope it makes you want to read and not want to tear my hair out. Or am I just being too self-confident? : )_

_I'll enjoy any response, and hope that you like it. This part's a bit short, I think, but we'll see how later updates fair in comparison._

_Thanks much!-- sheep's out to pasture_

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**[Preface]—**_**It Goes A Long Way**_

A tailor-made suit is the epitome of comfort in grace. Beauty and Fluidity drape themselves around your shoulders, curl to your own mold, are trimmed and perfected, and, with the snipping of the final thread, whisper casually in your ear that, _yes, you do look good._

Suits are for the higher life.

_Tailored_ suits are for those who thrive there.

_And_, those two devilish pretties that gather behind each shoulder murmur, _that color sure does go a long way_...

Bella happened to think that the requested black was far too dark for pale skin such as his. Even paler now due to... well...

Her shoulders straightened. By golly, this suit was going to be perfect, even if only appreciated by maggots and mourners! She would make sure of it!

* * *

**[Chapter One]--_It Goes A Long Way_**

Measuring. It was a necessary evil, Bella Swan knew. Normally, she had a terrible time with it. Squirmers, fidgeters, whiners, twitchers, and—O, _Lord!_—criers too. How horrible it was to be Bella Swan on the day that Little Timmy came in to get his ickle suit fitted for his heart-wrenching performance as the kid who walks down the aisle with the rings! How absolutely dreadful it was to be Bella Swan on the day that Aunt Martha brought in her grumpy, teenaged, _mohawked_ nephew for new Sunday attire! How hair-pullingly frustrating it was to be Bella Swan on the day that Old Albert traveled into town with his sweet (and entirely too judgmental) wife for a family reunion only to find that his dress pants didn't fit like they did ten years ago and that the flatulence problem (that really wasn't so much of a problem, _wink, wink, nudge, nudge, __**hidden grimace**_) wasn't as easily remedied as predicted by that drink the Missus had provided for him! How terrible measuring truly was!

But this time—_Lord, strike her down for such thoughts—_she looked _forward_ to this particular measuring job. As an apprenticed tailor of the I'm-a-high-school-senior-or-I-will-be-in-the-fall-so-please-let-me-have-a-job-here kind, Bella was used to receiving menial, boring, but _painfully necessary_ tasks. And, as her boss was particularly squeamish and the mortician particularly clueless, Bella _knew_ she would end up with _this_ measuring assignment, so she had already gotten most of the shivers out of her system.

Her main coping mechanism for this job? At least he wouldn't move...

But, she conceded, the shiny metal room was decidedly the CREEPIEST PLACE SHE HAD EVER BEEN IN as of yet. Glinting and glaring under harsh light was not what she wanted the cool metal doing under any circumstance in her presence. It was all entirely too chillingly-heebie-jeebie-like for her to get her job done right the first time, she knew. Or, _gulp_, she might _forget_ a measurement and have to come _back!_

"Eek," she muttered, following slowly behind the white coated Dr. Cullen, who, wholesomely handsome, young, and married, confused her by having _the worst job in all of Forks!_

"The freezers back here are generally empty as Forks is quite a small town," the kind doctor intoned from his position at the swinging doors. He turned to look over his shoulder. "You don't have much to worry about—well, except for getting the right locker, of course!"

What a joke. Obviously, Dr. Cullen thought it was humorous from his slight _chuckle_. Ha. Ha.

He held the door open for her, and she shivered as she entered, not just because of the cold temperature. After a few steps and some wandering, frightful glances forward, Bella stopped dead. Well, not _dead_, but—but—

But there was already a table with a _white sheet over it_ just _standing_ there, _waiting_ for her!

"I took the liberty of preparing him for you on the gurney beforehand. It will be easier to measure him this way, no?"

Wow, Dr. Cullen, you sure are one helpful S.O.B..

However... "Thank you, doctor. I think," _gulp_, "that _was_ for the best..."

"Well, I'll... leave you to it, I think." Bella didn't look at him as he began to pass her. Her eyes, instead, were focused on the suspicious, _still_, _**dead**_ lump underneath those white sheets.

Dr. Cullen paused at Bella's side, tilting his head slightly to meet her reluctant gaze. "You _will_ be alright, Ms. Swan?" he questioned with a unique concern, a type that Bella didn't necessarily associate with a mortician so much as a... _healer... yeah, a practitioner of healing..._

Bella smiled shakily at him. "If you don't mind my saying, you belong with the living kind of medicine, not the dead."

Hoping he didn't think her so unstable that she couldn't stay and get her measurements, Bella carefully watched the expressions on his flawless face. She was pleased that Dr. Cullen looked mostly pleased as well and maybe even a little... modestly flattered?

"Thank you, Ms. Swan," he said, golden eyes glowing. "I really do appreciate that comment. But..." he gestured around the room, "someone's got to do it. And I find that I can be here where others can't. You know," he added, leaning forward conspiratorially, "being a mortician isn't so alien as you think it is. A mortician can be the most human person you'll ever meet, for a mortician must deal with _human_ feelings at their most sensitive." He seemed distant for a second or two, and Bella waited, some sort of understanding flooding through her already haywire system. "In some ways, it's even more difficult than being a doctor."

That elusive perception just beginning to occur to her left her nodding her head in thought, however peculiar the idea seemed. Dr. Cullen was a strange, _kind_ one. Perhaps what he said was true! She replied, "I think I understand, Doctor."

"Good." He smiled. "Now... try to think of him that way." He gestured toward the body, making Bella turn to look as well. The sheet, white as death, for death was the white of the world, not the black, was still. Bella noted that its draping was much like that of a suit in its beginnings. Harmless wrappings of soft cloth, flexible and resilient, a suit was just a part of creation. And that white sheet... But who, of all people, could wear _death_? Who could bring _death_... to _life_? "Think of him with a bit of understanding, emotion, _humanity_... Maybe it won't be so... disconcerting."

Or, better yet, who could bring _life_ to _death_?

Bella, her gaze fixed on the white cloth yet again, straightened her shoulders. With a breath of cold, foreign chemical staining her pure air, she resolved to be that person—that person who would treat the dead as the living, with respect, dignity...

...And, if she happened to shiver from time to time, she couldn't be entirely blamed for it.

"Alright, Dr. Cullen. Thank you."

The doctor took his leave, and the Bella that had half a mind to follow him was (mostly) subdued. The door swung shut behind him, and the hiss of air that signaled its controlled closing was the only sound in the room. Then, all was silent (well, except for the steady wirr of the freezers and the incandescent lights). Bella snuck forward, not incredibly certain as to why she thought she had to be so subtle with her movements. By the time she was at the side of the gurney, staring down at the sheet of death, she realized that she had absolutely no idea of how to begin. She knew which measurements she needed, sure, but...

Cautiously, she fingered the edge of the cloth nearest to the body's... to his head.

...but... he was _dead_. And she was preparing measurements for his _funeral suit_.

This was not, in any way, normal.

How _did _she expect to endure?

With a resolute breath, Bella slowly peeled back the starched fabric from over the late Edward Masen's face.

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_**A.N. **...How's it? I'd like any sort of response, as I said before. Thanks!_


	2. Two

_**A.N. **__So, ladies and gents (however few there are of the latter), this story on is not an original piece as I used characters taken from Stephenie Meyer's **Twilight **series. This is an AU fic in which there are some living people and some-not-so-living people, as you, reader, will soon find out... Not everyone is as they should be according to the Twilight Universe, but, AHA!... cry about it. No extreme OOC-ness personality wise (at least **I** don't think so), but there are bits and pieces that are disputably different. DISCLAIMER END._

_So, sooner update than you thought, huh? : ) Well, it won't always be like this. But, well, I just got the urge to scratch/type something out, so I hope you'll enjoy._

_Any response is welcome and lovely, so don't be bashful. Despite the disclaimer, I'm actually quite a hospitable person._

_Thanks much!-- sheep's out to pasture_

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**[Chapter Two]--_It Goes A Long Way_**

**End One:**

_ With a resolute breath, Bella slowly peeled back the starched fabric from over the late Edward Masen's face._

_- - - - -_

"Oh my."

A quiet, choked gasp echoed off the metal walls, the humming of the freezers swallowing up Bella's sound of shock.

She let the sheet fold over onto his chest, baring him from the top of his coppery hair to the protruding arches of his clavicles.

She had to pause, just trying to take in what she was seeing.

"You," she whispered in devastation, "You are too, too young."

And just like that, she started talking with a stern reproach in her antics.

"You, young man, are just... too young! How did you do this to yourself?! You look as old as... as _me_! What... How did this _happen_?" And, again, the devastation was back in her voice.

He didn't respond to any of her questions, unsurprisingly.

"You, Edward Masen," she addressed, once again sounding more like a nanny than a tailor's apprentice (or an eighteen year old girl in the presence of a dead body, for that matter), "were just... irresponsible, I hope you know! I... I won't apologize if I stick you with a pin, I swear it!..." There was a pause. "Though I probably won't," she conceded, looking at him from under her lashes albeit petulantly. "You're very still, you know."

She stared intently at him, unconsciously waiting for some reaction. Then she sighed finally and rubbed her face. "What am I doing? What am I doing _here_?"

Perhaps she meant more the situation of her talking to a clearly reposed body rather than her actual, physical presence in a mortuary preservation room for the deceased.

Bella felt like crying. It scared her, and she began to tremble.

When her gasps started to come more frequently and harshly, she found that she had to turn away from the gurney for a minute or two just to breathe.

Edward Masen's death was choking her.

She looked back at him. She obviously hadn't known him before, because she _knew_ she would've remembered that face. _God_, he was so pale... She didn't know if it was the being dead thing or something else, but his face looked ridiculously hard, _strong_, like... he was a statue carved from granite. Stepping closer once again, her instincts told her that he would be cold and rigid to the touch, visible sinews under skin immoveable in Fatality's grip. He was beautiful creation, muscle, bone, and blood all wrapped up in stone.

His face was smooth, she saw, his cheeks hollow with the way he lay back, chin tilted upward, eyes completely closed. She observed that he didn't look particularly peaceful. He was much too tense, too... stiff.

And now she felt _really_ bad, realizing that all those stories about sleep-like death were just that: stories.

"Uh, hey," she she murmured to him, trying to get his attention. He waited patiently for her to speak (at least, that was how Bella liked to think of it). "Do you... do you think that you only look... _un_rested because I'm projecting my own insecurities about death onto you?"

He was still.

"No, I mean... like, if I was more comfortable now, do you think you would have that sleep-like quality to you? Or, at least, I would perceive that you did?"

No answer.

She frowned, biting her bottom lip. "'Cause, no offense intended... you look really... uptight?"

He appeared unimpressed.

She sighed and rubbed at her face again, this time with the heels of both of her palms. "_Ugh!_ This is _not_ healthy!" Her hands seemed to spasm in front of her as she waved them about in an attempt to reassure herself. "This is... th-this is..." Bella gripped the ends of her hair in frustration, unintentionally yanking her pony tail. Her eyes widened in delayed shock. "_Ow!_"

Rubbing her scalp (she always did have sensitive hair), she decided that enough was enough. When the back of her head finally turned to a dull throb, she pulled out her tape measure from her overalls' denim pocket, unrolling it slightly before taking a deep breath.

"Okay. This is gonna be a pretty painless procedure—for the both of us, hopefully." Another breath. "I'm gonna start..."

Belatedly (_much_ belatedly), she realized that she had no way to move him if she needed to. And, _even if_ she could...

..._she was going to have to touch him!_

"Oh dear... I'm gonna start with," she breathed faintly, "with... your a-_arms_..."

Then, again belatedly, she realized that she was going to have to lift the sheet.

"_Oh_ dear!"

She gulped, her throat seizing in a dry heave... because his order consisted of a full suit. _Full_ suit. That included the pants.

"I-I... I don't want t-to-to compromise you or anything! You... You're dead!"

She moaned in overwhelming frustration. "_Why'd_ you have to go and order a full suit?"

While she whined, groaned, and mumbled (peculiarly not unlike those she'd had to measure in the past), the body of Edward Masen lay passively on the gurney, white sheet of death draped up to his chest, in want of a proper suit which Bella was severely delaying the making of in her reluctance. "I mean," she continued, "I need to get measurements that _neither_ of us is comfortable with me taking! For one, you're dead, and, for two... you're dead and _naked_! And I've never... I've never even..."

Once more, there was a humming quiet to the room.

"I'm _not_ letting a dead guy be my first lesson in the male anatomy is all I'm saying." She thought her protest to be quite reasonable, and she linked her arms firmly across her chest, over the beginnings of her bibs and a colorful, striped shirt.

All in all, she looked quite like the inexperienced child she was appearing to be.

Bella turned to look at him, projecting a smile on his face, eyes still closed.

"What are _you_ laughing about?! It's not funny! This is horrible! I mean, I'll feel like I'm taking advantage of you or something. This is... this is..." She trailed off, distress muddling her brain. In desperation, she lashed out.

"And, well, just as it happens, I think double-breasted suits are _ugly!_ There, I said it! They're ugly!"

Immediately feeling guilty, Bella took back her words with a mumble. "Well, I guess they're just... old-fashioned, not ugly... I'm sorry."

He didn't seem to accept her apology.

"I... I don't _really_ think they're ugly... I promise. They remind me of older days, yesteryear if you will. I quite like old things." Arms still crossed, she smiled at him in a fond complot. "You know... that black you wanted might be a bit dark, but... in a double-breasted suit, I bet you'd look a bit... a bit like... Dorian Gray or someone. Well, before he was corrupted. And I know he was blond, but... Well, it's not like I should be comparing you to someone like that anyway. I mean he was beautiful, sure, but, trapped in youth? Never-ending youth?... You don't seem the type—the perpetual beauty riddled with evil. I mean, you'll have people there at your funeral, missing you, missing how _good_ you were. I just know it. You're a... a '_willful sunbeam of life_,' aren't you? I'd like to think so."

She examined his still face, quite expressionless, remorsefully. "I... I'm really sorry... about everything... You being dead, me harassing you after the fact, me _going_ _to_ harass you with a tape measure... Maybe, in a different life, we could have been friends." She frowned as she turned introspective. "Well... I don't know if I could be doing this if we were friends. Measuring you, I mean. I don't think I'm strong enough of a person. I get a little bit weepy sometimes, especially when I read Austen novels or I watch _The Lion King_..."

And she really _did_ want to let a few tears drop when she waited for him to say something and he never did.

She laughed with a watery smile. "I guess you're really lucky you got me, huh?" she snorted derisively, inconspicuously dabbing at her eyes. "I mean, normally I'm not this all over the place, but I'm trying to make conversation for the two of us, and it's just going horribly. I'm really s-_sorry_." Here, she had to hold back a sob.

She turned away for just a moment with a sniffle. "_God..._"

Pulling herself together, perhaps not-so-valiantly, but with still a tremendous amount of effort, Bella fingered her tape measure yet again. She shook her head quickly, rubbed out a few more tears, and grabbed a small, purple pocket notebook from, yet again, her overalls (she found it was easier wearing overalls to work rather than carrying a bag; nothing was misplaced, and everything was on hand). Reaching behind her ear, she groped about her hair for a few seconds before she could finally find the pen she had stuck there (frustratingly, she had _also_ found that her ears weren't quite big enough for a pen to sit there securely, hence her reverting to pony tails and "hidden" writing utensils). She jotted down a few abbreviations for each measurement she needed for a double-breasted suit coat, deciding to worry about the pants _predicament_ later.

"Right arm first, it looks like," she breathed. Taking a breath, she slowly shifted the sheet nearest her side over onto his chest, exposing inch by inch the milky skin stretched over lean muscle, shoulder deltoid, bicep and tricep, moving on to the brachiora... something or other...

_Wow._

"_Wow_." Bella gulped. "You, uh... have a nice arm on you there... Right hand dominant, huh?... Oh, dear, what am I saying?" She blinked. A lot. For about a minute. Luckily, no one was there to witness her make such a fool of herself.

"Uh—um... I should... start here, I think... Yep..." Carefully, she reached out to rest her tape measure at the top of his shoulder. "Now, um... hold your arms like you normally would... Yep..."

Her fingertips tingled as they brushed his skin. "You're really cold, you know that?"

Reaching his wrist, she held the tape to it. "I believe it's the... _supinator_ muscle that controls forearm movement in relation to the palm. That's right around here. Cool, huh?"

Biting her lip, she breathed out against him and was momentarily distracted at the rustle of the dark hair on his forearm as she did so. Jerkily, she wrote down the numbers she needed, continuing to prattle on about how shirt-sleeve exposure should be from a quarter to a half inch and how getting this measurement right was key to cuff placement. When she was done, she just drew back and _looked_ at him.

"Um... should we move across the body or would you rather go symmetrical? I mean, the left arm is... on your left side, so... But the collar..." She fiddled with her bangs nervously. "We could go either-or, you know?"

Deciding that it was too much of a risk to her pride to go about shifting the sheet again, she went with the across-the-body approach.

"Okay! So, now I'm going to get your, uh, shoulder measurements. I mean, uh, neck to shoulder. 'Cause, if this one's not right it can..." she placed one end near the dip in his neck, a perfectly formed little hollow there; her pinky brushed his Adam's apple, and she blushed. "It can, um... make your shoulders really uncomfortable... too much, and the suit'll swallow you whole... too little, and you can't raise your arms. This measurement is a really big determining factor in overall fit and wearability."

As she lowered the tape to the edge of his shoulder, the hand nearest his neck slipped. "_Oh!_—sorry! I'll just..." She shifted closer to the gurney, leaning against it and putting the tape back in place.

She was definitely not prepared for the cart to move as she pressed forward.

She screeched as she lost her balance, gripping, for a moment, Edward Masen's gorgeous right arm and an edge of his white sheet of death. Then, suddenly, she fell further and was _only_ gripping the white sheet of death. She fell on her bottom, and the gurney rocked frighteningly. When it settled, Bella tried not to lean back against it in relief. Bella clutched the sheet to her face, trying to hide her flaming cheeks.

Oh... _God..._

Bella slowly looked down at her hands.

_She_ was holding the white sheet of death.

That meant...

"Um... _Dr. Cullen!_"

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_**A.N.** I'll take this moment to shout out to Abbie Lynn. All I can say is this; whether or not Edward is 'alive' is his own decision. A funeral is obviously a very important part of any death, and this suit is important to his funeral. That's what I'm willing to say about the matter, so, I apologize. : ) And, just so you know, things will only get more confusing... *shrugs innocently*_

_Thanks again to Abbie Lynn and anyone else who's willing to comment and/or read. Shout out, people! Go on... be a sheep! Join (well, at this point create) a mass!  
_


	3. Three

_ **A.N. **So, ladies and gents (however few there are of the latter), this story is not an original piece as I used characters taken from Stephenie Meyer's **Twilight **series. This is an AU fic in which there are some living people and some-not-so-living people, as you, reader, will soon find out... Not everyone is as they should be according to the Twilight Universe, but, AHA!... cry about it. No extreme OOC-ness personality wise (at least **I** don't think so), but there are bits and pieces that are disputably different. DISCLAIMER END._

_Oh, and by the by, I have absolutely no idea of when I will be able to update, so reading will likely be sporadic and often riddled with displeasing cut-off points. Hope it makes you want to read and not want to tear my hair out. Or am I just being too self-confident? : )_

_I'll enjoy any response, and hope that you like it. This part's a bit short, I think, but we'll see how later updates fair in comparison._

_Thanks much!- sheep's out to pasture_

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"Remember—it's not slave labor until you pass out."

"What if my fingers fall off?"

"Oh, silly girl—you'd still have your toes. Young people nowadays should be more grateful for what they have. Honestly! Why is it that so many youngsters are becoming such pessimists?"

"They work for you."

"Well, _there's_ grateful for you, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Whitlock, if you'd just let me—"

"Belly, we've talked about this."

"...Mr. Whitlock doesn't like when I call you—"

"And is he _here_?"

"No...

"No?..."

"No, A-Alice."

"That's a good Belly!"

"Um... Bella?"

"No, that's your name."

"I know. I like Bella."

"I like Belly too."

"Well—"

"Well-welly, Belly, did you get the measurements?"

"Um. Yes."

"You look... off, dear."

"Off? Like, upset?"

"I was gonna say shifty."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Well the measurements are here, I wrote them down for you, _all_ of them—"

"Ah, good. And you asked about the cloth swatches, yes?"

"..."

_TapTapTap_

"...The cloth swatches?"

"Yes, so we know which _color_ fabric he wants?"

"Black! I know that, he wants black!"

"I know. I set out the swatches so he could pick one."

"He... I mean, I guess I didn't think to ask, 'cause he's..."

"You don't think I meant you to ask _him_, do you?"

"Well, honestly Mrs. Whitlock, I forgot about the swatches. But even if I brought them, there wasn't anyone there to make a decision."

_Sniff_. "I don't _respond_ to that name."

"Oh! Sorry, Al—"

"But why didn't you just ask Mr. McCarty?"

"Mr. McCarty?"

"Mr. McCarty. The boy's uncle? He was visiting today, I thought, to oversee the arrangements. Was he not there? I talked to him just yesterday."

"I didn't see him, no. And Dr. Cullen didn't mention anything."

"I _told_ the man quite specifically that you would be there to see him _with the swatches_."

"Well, in that case, he probably ran away."

"Oh, honestly! Men are not _completely_ inept at the important decision-making of clothing. Just look at my Jasper."

"Jasper's, like, your Ken doll."

"Because he has enough fashion sense to know that _my_ fashion sense is superior."

"More like he has enough common sense to just take it like a man."

"He knows that I know better, that's all. Those measurements?"

"Uh—here!"

"Mhmm. Mhmm. Ooh, broad shoulders. You have to love that in a man."

"..."

"Long arms, too. Nice torso?"

"Um."

"That's nice. He'll look just dandy in this suit. Now, the color swatches?"

"I didn't remember to take them, remember? I just told you..."

"You. Didn't."

"What? Yes I did!..."

"You _forgot_ the color swatches?"

"But Mr. McCarty wasn't even there!"

"Oh, and I suppose you're just going to tell me that 'Black is black, Alice. There's only one black, _Alice_.'"

"No! I would never! Never to you!"

"Never to my face, you mean!"

"I'll take the swatches back! I'll ask tomorrow! I swear."

"Aw, Belly, you're so sweet. I'm glad I have such a dedicated worker with you. Most high schoolers I've employed in the past were morose and dodgy at best, but you're just so..."

"So?"

"Sweet! That's all there is to it."

"Thank you, Alice."

"Aw, you remembered, Belly!"

"Yeah. Yes."

"..."

"..."

"Do you... will you be fine with going back?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"Would you like a hug before we close up for the night?"

"A hug would be really nice, Alice."

* * *

_**A.N. **So... revisting Twilight with the shortest, barest update known to man (not really, I think)... Oh well. Let's see how many people care to leave me some love in the form of a review. Maybe this thing'll start to actually go somewhere..._

_Thanks for reading!_


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